


one day see a brighter dawn (The Night That Is Past Remix)

by overthetiber



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Ouroboros Mix Lightning Round
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overthetiber/pseuds/overthetiber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though the moon and the queen are long behind her, Jade hasn't forgotten them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one day see a brighter dawn (The Night That Is Past Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Latia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latia/gifts).
  * Inspired by [to thank that unseen Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/220183) by [Latia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latia/pseuds/Latia). 



After seven years’ worth of dreams spent on Prospit, there’s something weird and gross about dreaming in her waking body. It’s like going to bed in dirty clothes. John doesn’t get it; he had normal dreams, he sleeps fine. But Jade, Jade feels like a fish in a little fish-pond, wallowing through cyclical barrages of filth and dead skin and leftover dinner. More often than not, she wakes up gasping, face hot with sweat or tears. She feels _confined_.

At first, her dreams are simple: She eats a funny-looking fruit, or loses her gun, or reads a book whose name she can’t recall on waking. Those dreams are frustrating because they’re so pointless. Then come memories, things she’s definitely done before—and it frustrates her that there’s nothing _new_ in her. And the memories, which come at random, are full of people she can’t touch. The Witch of Space has many powers, but some things are still beyond her.

Then there start being new things. She dreams the future, again and again; but it’s not a real future, not even an alternate one. She dreams her friends dead a thousand times over, in ways she never saw or imagined. And she dreams places: Her home, her Land, the other Lands, dream bubbles and the things glimpsed just beyond them, photographs of real places that she’s never been, even places that don’t exist. They melt into each other, move around.

The ship appears in countless guises, changed a little each time. For example, the corridor between John’s room and the bathroom might stretch by a mile, while the sink in what was deemed by consensus the "galley" might shrink to the size of a mug. Growing and shrinking are recognizable themes. If Rose were here, she'd have a lot to say about it, probably.

Nightmares are another theme. Childhood fears resurface, commingle with new ones, and mutate into fresh and terrible forms. For the first time in years, she is afraid of unreal things. Jade has died twice, stuffed and preserved her own grandfather’s corpse, and faced down a near-omnipotent, murderous demon with a serious case of the grumps. It is downright _unsettling_ to get cold sweats from a dream about clowns.

But what it comes down to, really, is this: For the first time in years, Jade cannot trust her dreams. Not because they’re governed by horrorterrors, not because someone is trying to assassinate her in them, but simply because they are lies.

( _she_ knew _it would happen_ )

  


( _she didn’t want it to_ )

One night—rather, during one of the periods they’ve arbitrarily designated as night— the queen comes to visit.

She’s not there. It’s not possible for her to be there. Jade knows this, and yet. It’s _her_.

She’s not wearing a crown, though that makes sense. Instead of blue and coral, gray rags are wound loosely around her elegant figure. Her ring is missing, too. But everything that matters is still there: the unearthly beauty that once awed Jade, the graceful stance that she still envies. And that mouthless smile upon beholding her, the same as it was; but somehow awfully, incredibly sad.

 _I missed you!_ says Jade.

The queen indicates that she has missed her as well. (Jade is surprised, then surprised at herself, to find it’s true.)

 _So much happened. It feels like everything’s changed._ Jade shifts guiltily, remembering. _I’m so sorry about Prospit! I wish we could have saved it._

The queen inclines her head: an acceptance of fate. Jade’s eyes are drawn to the gaps in her carapace, the places where dark shows beneath the white shell. Then they settle on her clothes again. A postage stamp on her left lapel (Miss Mail Lady?), and her chest—

_You’re dead._

( _not as grown up as she thought she was_ )

_don’t cry, dear girl_

( _never thanked her_ )

( _all those dreams and not a_ word)

The loss of life, and of kingdom, were inevitable. Inevitable, also, was the loss of her ring and the power contained within it. A queen is defined and given power by her decisions, but sometimes she decides to deny that power—or even hand it over to others.

Learning to anticipate the moments at which such decisions become necessary is as important as learning to command power in the first place. A queen—a queen, like she used to be, like Jade is now—must master many arts.

_But I’m not a queen! I can’t do things like you did! I’m scared and alone and I’m not ready, I’m not_

That delicate, mechanically perfect hand settles on her shoulder. She is crying, sobbing; now and then, a doglike whine escapes.

  
_few are never caught off guard_

_you may not feel ready, but you are_

The queen’s bottomless eyes catch hers. Jade used to look for stars inside them, imagining distant galaxies and silent  
combustion. Now she sees only her reflection.

  
_and you are not alone_

_everyone who helped you, everyone who loved you_

_—your grandfather, your guardian, your friends, even me—_

_their actions and advice will always be there, inside you._

_don’t forget your brother (asleep in the other room)_

_or the funny little boy with the wings._

_everything you need is already here._

_(but i'll miss you)_

The queen opens her arms, and Jade throws herself gladly into them. Those strong, slender fingers comb once more through her hair, straightening knots she didn’t realize were there. For a moment, she feels like the little girl she was. And then--

She wakes still surrounded by that comfort, that alien but still recognizable love. The next night, she dreams of fairy tale towers and fantastical shapes, winding golden streets in a glittering city.

 

  
_Surely your gladness need not be the less for the thought that you will one day see a brighter dawn than this--when lovelier sights will meet your eyes than any waving trees or rippling waters--when angel-hands shall undraw your curtains, and sweeter tones than ever loving Mother breathed shall wake you to a new, a glorious day--and when all the sadness, and the sin, that darkened life on this little earth, shall be forgotten like the dreams of a night that is past!_   



End file.
